The Whispering Court

Morning in the Lin residence broke with the sound of rustling silk and whispered orders. Servants swept through the inner courtyard, tending to the chrysanthemum garden, but their movements were quick, their eyes watchful. Something had shifted.

In her chambers, Ruyan sat before her bronze mirror, watching her reflection with cool detachment as Xiao Zhen pinned fresh jasmine into her hair.

“Miss,” the maid whispered, “someone left this at the gate.”

She offered a letter.

Unmarked. Sealed with black wax.

Ruyan broke it open. A single phrase was inked in elegant brush strokes:

Beware the ones who remember the flame.

Her breath slowed.

So they were watching. And someone else wanted her to know.

---

That morning, she requested an audience with the Grand Tutor, Lord Qian—an old man whose wisdom was buried beneath layers of caution and loyalty to the throne. It was an audacious move, but one that aligned with her new persona: clever, composed, unpredictable.

She was admitted into his study, lined with scrolls and incense smoke.

“Young Lady Lin,” he greeted, his gaze sharp. “This is... an unusual request.”

“I seek knowledge, not favor,” she said.

“A fine distinction in this court.”

“I wish to study under you.”

He raised a brow. “A noblewoman, learning court history?”

Ruyan’s smile was smooth. “I find the past clarifies the present. Particularly the period surrounding the late Empress’s final year.”

His hand stilled on his teacup.

“That is... delicate history.”

“All the more reason to understand it.”

He studied her a long moment. “Very well. We begin tomorrow. At dawn.”

Ruyan bowed. “Thank you, Teacher.”

As she turned to leave, he murmured, “And beware, Lady Lin... those who seek the truth often find ashes.”

She didn’t flinch.

“I am not afraid of fire.”

---

That afternoon, Lady Su Yinyin appeared at the Lin estate with a scroll of poetry and a tray of candied lotus.

Ruyan received her in the garden.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Yinyin said. “Sometimes enemies drink tea together.”

“I prefer candor to poison in my cup.”

Yinyin laughed. “Then I’ll keep the poison for my poems.”

They sat under the flowering plum tree, two rivals pretending civility. The wind stirred their sleeves.

Yinyin tapped the tray. “They say you’ve requested tutoring under Lord Qian.”

“News spreads fast.”

“Especially when it matters.”

Ruyan sipped her tea. “Is this visit concern... or warning?”

“Curiosity. And advice.”

“Oh?”

“Be careful where you dig. Some roots strangle.”

Ruyan set down her cup. “And some bloom.”

For a moment, silence bloomed between them.

Yinyin stood, her smile brittle. “You and I are alike, Lady Lin. We pretend to be flowers. But we were born of thorns.”

When she was gone, Ruyan crushed a lotus petal in her palm. Beneath softness—seeds.

---

The following dawn, she arrived at Lord Qian’s study. He handed her a scroll.

Record of Imperial Incidents: 5th Year of the Late Empress.

“Read,” he said.

She opened it, and time rolled back.

Mentions of unrest in the western provinces. An outbreak of fire in the eastern palace. The mysterious death of a maid in the Empress’s service.

And a single line, brushed faintly into the margin:

“The phoenix grieved in silence.”

She looked up. “Who wrote this?”

Lord Qian did not meet her gaze. “An imperial scribe who died shortly after. Killed in a riding accident.”

Ruyan said nothing.

A riding accident. The same fate she had been given in her former life.

A silence fell.

Lord Qian rose. “That is enough for today.”

As she stepped outside, she saw Ji Wuxian standing under the camphor tree.

He turned to her. “Seeking the past?”

She inclined her head. “Sometimes the future depends on it.”

He studied her. “You wear the past well, Lady Lin. But it leaves a shadow.”

She smiled, soft and cutting. “Then perhaps I’ve learned to walk through shadow.”

He stepped closer. “Should I fear you?”

She met his eyes, unwavering. “Only if you remember.”

They parted with nothing more than that.

But beneath the garden stones, secrets stirred.

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